The Jewel of Parallelus
by ironoc
Summary: Jean Descole has disappeared, much to the distress of his butler, who enlists the assistance of the renowned Professor Layton with no hesitation. But is it just a simple missing person case, or is there an amount of hidden malice behind this event?
1. Chapter 1

A long time ago, there lived a servant to a greedy, corrupt royal family. He worked day in, day out, as did his fellow workers, but they didn't receive an inch of gratitude from them in return. He lived like this for ten years, then twenty, then fifty. The most recent monarch, a particularly horrible queen, had tormented them for five years.

One day, when he was about to fall asleep in his uncomfortable bed in the servant's quarters, he came to terms with the fact that he wasn't going to live forever, and that if he wasn't going to change the queen and those after her for the good of himself, then he would do it for the future workers.

During the one week during the winter months that he received a break, he crept out of the castle, out of the city, and into the forest beyond. He had heard by the talk of the town that there lived a powerful witch between the trees.

After hours of searching and wandering, and with a noticeable, cold ache in his aging bones, the servant found a hut in the woods.

He knocked three times, the third one loudest and most confident, and waited. After a couple of moments, he heard footsteps on the other side. When the door opened, there was a beautiful young woman standing in the way.

"Have you come for me?" she asked him.

He only asked her if she was the witch, to which she nodded and said "Yes, I am."

She led him inside, and he told her of the terrible queen and her equally terrible heirs and she nodded and listened the whole time. When he reached the end, she told him, "I have just the thing for you."

Leading him into a back room, she handed him an oblong mirror with an ornate gold frame, but faced the glass towards her, and did not show him it. "The moment she looks into this, she will be taken to the other side. An exact opposite of her will remain on your side, kind and graceful and all you would ever want in a queen. The same for her children."

The servant thanked her deeply and tried to take the mirror, but she resisted. "However, you are not to look into it. It will change you, too."

He left, after the witch insisted that she didn't want to be repaid for the favour. He hurried back up to the castle, holding the glass firmly away from himself and anyone else. When he returned to the dormitory, he wrapped up the mirror and gave it to one of the other servants to give to the queen, as a gift.

The next day, there was no noticeable change in the queen, nor was there any difference to be seen or noticed in her heirs. The next week, there were no more signs of such change, and the next year, everything was still the same.

Although the servant had long given up, he had thought about the mirror almost every day. One day, when serving the queen her afternoon tea, he couldn't help but notice that the mirror was hanging up.

Unable to resist his curiosity, he looked into it. But in the reflection, he did not see himself, but the witch. She didn't look taunting, or angry, or even pleasant as she had when she had opened the door to him. No, she most certainly looked _disappointed._

"I told you not to look in the mirror," the reflection said.

And all of a sudden, it all made sense. The servant had looked in the mirror the night he had taken it back, by accident, and he was now trapped with the old queen.

Some say that the mirror still hangs on the top floor of an abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of London Town.

The queen and the servant have long passed away, but that is not to say that you won't find anyone else beyond it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Not anywhere?"

"Not anywhere."

A sense of unease creeps over Professor Layton's face. A missing man isn't odd. About 80,000 people go missing a year, by police calculations. By that logic, the disappearance of one man should not affect him.

But this man is Jean Descole.

And while Layton has been in a few bad situations with the man, he accepts that he's a person, and anyone in (even potential) danger deserves to be helped.

He tries to see the good in everyone, even criminals.

Descole's servant is sat anxiously opposite him, parading all manners of 'I don't know' and 'please help' .

Layton doesn't understand. Descole, as he knew all too well, was one for theatrics, but disappearing seemed below him.

'I'm afraid I can't help you.'

He doesn't say this, only thinks to, but then thinks better. Raymond - as the butler had introduced himself - seems genuinely concerned. Layton can only wager that Descole means a little more to the elderly man than just an employer.

"And when was the last time you saw him?"

The butler hesitates. "He was in his room. I didn't see him, but his door was locked, and it can only be locked from the inside," he finally says, wringing his hands together.

"Is there any way we can get past the lock? I might need to take a look around."

Raymond's expression swiftly becomes conflicted. He's, there is most likely a way for them to get into the room, even if it means taking the door down, but Descole certainly wouldn't want Layton of all people 'investigating' his personal space.

He seems to reach the decision, however, that his master's safety is more important than his privacy.

"Of course, Professor. We could unscrew the hinges."

Layton checks the fading light outside. It will soon be night, but he accepts that the first twenty four hours are of the upmost importance when it comes to missing person cases.

"Have you notified the police?"

"No, Professor. That would only cause trouble."

Layton pauses, taking another sip of his rapidly cooling tea.

"Of course. You go ahead and take care of the door. I won't be far behind."

Raymond, with a grateful nod, stands and bustles out of the door. Layton sets down his cup and saucer, and picks up the phone, quickly dialling a number.

"Hello. Emmy? I've a new case, and I was wondering if you would be interested in joining me."

* * *

There's not a body in this kind of case. In this particular one, there's hardly any evidence at all. Just a broken saucer, which could be taken for a sign of a scuffle, a sudden departure or just the holder being startled. Raymond, as before, is beside himself in the corner while Layton investigates the scene.

Outside, night has fallen. Luke seems unsettled, most likely because he did not expect to be in Descole's abode, of all places, tonight. Emmy has made haste to snap a couple of photos as soon as they entered the room, but she has taken no more.

It's the kind of atmosphere one would expect.

Emmy knows that if she were in the professor's place, then she would decline the case and leave Descole for dead. But then again, Emmy is not a gentleman and Layton certainly is.

"Wait."

A word from the other side of the room, where Layton is knelt, sifting carefully through the fragments of broken china.

"There's a note beneath it."

Emmy shifts between her feet, and, coming to the conclusion that nobody else is going to question this, speaks up.

"What does it say?"

Layton stands up, holding it between his index finger and thumb, scrutinising it carefully. His expression clearly says 'nothing'. He holds it up to his nose and sniffs it.

"What are you-"

"It's wax paper, and smells of lemon. Sir, do you have a means on hand to light that candle?" Raymond nods, and bustles over to the single candle on the coffee table, withdrawing from his pocket a box of matches. He strikes one and sets the wick alight.

Layton, taking care not to burn his fingers, then holds the paper above the flame. Slowly, words begin to appear, glossy and a burnt yellow colour.

The other three crane their necks to see as Layton reads the words, then rereads them, but none of them get the chance to see it before he folds it in two, his brow furrowing.

"Impossible," he says breathlessly.

"What's impossible, professor?" Luke chimes, but Layton doesn't reply. He brushes past them, not in anger, but in a rare kind of panic.

Emmy and Luke see no other option but to follow, and Raymond stays in place, still holding the box of matches. A draft from the window has snuffed out the candle.

Still walking, Luke looks over his shoulder at the elderly butler. "Don't worry! We'll find your master, you can count on us!"

Just before he walks through the door, he thinks he sees Raymond smile.

* * *

Luke and Emmy have to jog for a moment to catch up with the perturbed Layton, who is still holding the note in his fist.

"Here, let us have a look," Emmy says suddenly. Layton looks at her, then opens his hand to show her the disgruntled looking scrap. She takes it eagerly, reading it. The invisible lemon juice ink has not yet faded, and the two of them manage to read it.

"Some say that the mirror still hangs on the top floor of an abandoned apartment building on the outskirts of London Town," Emmy reads aloud, uncertain. She looks up at Layton, her expression a question, and Luke follows suit. "Professor?"

"I heard a story when I was a child," Layton begins, slowing his pace a little, "about a cursed mirror. There was even a time when everyone believed that it had been found, in a place of that exact description. But in the end, there was no sign of a curse, not anywhere. So they gave up."

"And you think it will be a better lead now?"

"It's our only lead, Emmy," Layton says morosely, once again picking up his pace. "I'm happy to take it."

Within an hour, they have reached a rundown looking apartment building. Layton has relied solely on his memory of his childhood in the years before he moved to Stansbury with his parents, and the memory of visiting relatives. It's worked, because he's fairly certain that he's been here before.

Luke seems uneasy. The building is foreboding, certainly, and it's getting darker and colder by the minute, but he doesn't say anything. For all the fear, he's excited, too, as he always is at the beginning of an investigation.

"What are we waiting for?" Emmy asks impatiently, pushing on the doors. To the suprise of all three of them, they open without the need of a key. Emmy stumbles in, and runs her hands along the walls in the search of a light switch. Luke remains stubbornly in the doorway until she finds it, and turns the lights on. They flicker on lethargically, bathing the desolate room in an eerie yellow glow.

And it might just be a trick of Emmy's eyes, but she thinks she can see blood on the wall.


	3. Chapter 3

They enter through the open doors, their footsteps loud and eerie on the plain walls. The inside of the building is gloomy and neglected, as they would expect. Even with the light on - and the light is nothing much, just a naked bulb swaying on a wire - there are corners of darkness, within which dark, skittish shadows lurk. Emmy crinkles her nose at the unmistakable scent of a rat nest.

There is not much of the original plaster to be seen on the walls, just bare crumbling brick and patches of damp. An ominous, ringing darkness hangs in the air like smoke, like the echoes of a voice they can't make out. On the other side of the room, there is a staircase, with rotting steps and cracked railings. At the top their is a door. The paint is peeling but it is a door.

Emmy steps boldly into the empty space. Luke has not yet left the professor's side, and does not plan to be doing so any time soon. While Emmy investigates the rusty liquid dried into the cracks in the paint, Layton approaches the bottom of the stairs, taking care not to slip on any patches of moisture. They can barely make out the different steps, and Layton is sure to hold onto the railings.

Where Emmy is standing, there is a long smudge of red, as if someone bleeding had fallen against the wall. Possibly someone with a white mask and a destructive reputation.

(It takes all of Emmy's power to think 'possibly' and not 'hopefully'.)

She sets her jaw and sets off to catch up with Layton and Luke, who are already at the top of stairs. When she reached them, she did not mention the bloodstains. After all, it might not have anything to do with their case, an she didn't want to distress them without having a need to.

A dead criminal may upset their client, but nobody else is going to miss him.

The door swings open with nothing more than a brief push from Layton, and he chalks it up to the rusting hinges and broken lock. Luke shuffles out from behind Layton, curiosity overriding his fear in a matter of seconds.

The room beyond is even bleaker than this one, but there is a fresher smell coming from there, a great change from the damp musk of the hall. Emmy sidles in, dead set on checking the space for danger before Luke and Layton can walk into it.

A light turns on.

Emmy spins around, much to the confusion of Layton. She has reached the centre of the floor by now, and both Layton and Luke know that they haven't flicked any switches.

The mistake they make is to wave that off like it's nothing.

Luke's breath flows out of his mouth in a quiet gasp. They are standing in a small room, hardly the size of the en suite bathroom back at Layton's abode, but amazingly well kept and exquisitely decorated. Moonlight flows in through a single crystal clear window, and there are unlit candles attached to holders on every wall. Emmy looks down at the ornate rug beneath her feet, then at the walls, then at the ceiling. Layton runs his finger along the other side of the door, which is in as good a condition as the rest of the room.

"It's incredibly clean. Not even a hint of dust," he observes aloud. "Someone must have been here very recently."

Emmy does not say a word. Her eyes are fixated upon a mirror on the north wall.

Layton does a clumsy double take. "It can't be."

He steps in front of her, looking at the golden frame, set into the shapes of blossoms and leaves and vines, and looking into the glass itself. It is spotless, even more so than the window, but despite the legends, all Layton can see is his own familiar reflection.

"It's quite the object, isn't it?"

All three of them turn at once.

* * *

Jean Descole is alone.

It's not a solitary kind of alone, not peaceful, not the alone he's used to or the alone he enjoys. No, this alone is bright and noisy, full of movements that he is not making and yet dark (pitch black) and, well, ilonely./i

He doesn't like this kind of alone.

There's no focus point here, just blurred shapes, like smiling faces behind a screen and the bodies of fish beneath the surface of water. Distorted limbs, darker than the dark itself.

He's vaguely aware of a pain in his head, and in his lungs. Not an unbearable pain, more of a subtle ithereness/i than anything, just a steady throb to remind him that the loneliness is not forever, that he'll wake up soon and see the mess he's in.

But even though it's an empty sleep, he's happy not being awake for a while longer.

He remembers everything right now, but if he'll remember when he wakes up is a different matter entirely.

It was a house - an office - his own. Just the right amount of hot tea on his skin to make him flinch, and a figure in the doorway.

By the hearth.

Next to him.

And the light coming through the window suddenly seems so much brighter, in a fuzzy way, and there's a dull thud.

He doesn't feel a thing.

All he hears is a voice, and the sound is familiar, but the words are not. Nonetheless, he feels a surge of anger run through him.

iLayton/i.

And he's surprised, he must admit. It's been a year since Descole has done anything notable, and he could always tell that Layton wasn't the kind of person to hold grudges.

And he could always tell that Layton wasn't exactly the kind of person that would kidnap someone because of said grudges.

Yet here he is, here they are.

* * *

Now they have their backs to the door. Somehow, be it through the window or any other concealed method of entrance, someone has entered the room without their knowing.

And it seems wholly impossible, Layton thinks, but that 'someone' is wearing his face.

"Professor?" Emmy is looking at him, questioning, and he wants to tell her that she's not the only confused one.

Luke steps forwards. "Who are you?"

The other Layton ignores the question, keeping his one visible eye fixed on the professor. His other eye is behind a gold rimmed monocle, the glass lens of which is glinting an opaque silver in the light.

"I'm glad you could make it. Relieved, too I suppose; you see, my captive should have almost bled to death by now, and I may require your assistance in waking him up."


	4. Chapter 4

Emmy seems like she wants to attack immediately, Luke looks fearful and almost nauseous, and Layton is doing his best to keep his wits about him.

For before them is another Hershel Layton.

His clothes are changed from the turtleneck and jacket or the _'real' _Layton, but while the hat is several shades darker, he still wears it. He holds a cane to the ground although it is evident that he isn't actually using it.

And upon his right eye glints a gold-rimmed monocle.

"Are you mute?" His voice is more of a growl than anything, a throaty rumble, and Luke shivers from where he is, with Layton's hand on his shoulder. But he's smiling. He's smiling and if Hershel must be brief he will admit that it terrifies him.

He doesn't like _this _professor, Luke realises, and his confidence from before has dribbled out of him, leaving his face pale.

"Your captive is Jean Descole," Hershel begins, "is it not?"

Monocle laughs, a laugh which is accompanied by slow, falsely impressed clapping, and the sound just makes Luke shudder more.

"Care to pay him a visit?" the man asks smugly. "Follow me."

And the first seemingly impossible occurrence of the night occurs right then. Monocle sweeps past them with an air of jovial disdain and, with a single beckoning glance back, steps _into the mirror. _

_Into it. _

And Layton doesn't even have time to think about it. All three of them gape for a moment before Emmy steps forward, pressing her finger to the glass.

Only it isn't _to _the glass, it's _through _the glass.

It's warm, she notices, and breathy, like a tropical breeze. With a uncertain glance backwards, she steps through it.

Luke and Layton barely waste a second before following her.

The room behind the mirror is dim, the window panes tinted with grime and cracked at the edges. None of the three can see beyond them; there is only darkness, and the occasional sound of shifty, thick movement beyond. Luke appears deeply unsettled by this, and Layton is sure that, inwardly, they all are, but Emmy is only shown to be bouncing on the balls of her feet, on edge, ready for fight or flight.

The other Layton walks in silence ahead of them, occasionally twirling the cane that he is just holding in both hands, not using. There's a whistling in the air and at first Hershel expected it to be coming from him until the man speaks, finally, and he realises it's probably just the sound of the wind.

"He's in this next room. Try anything, Hershel Layton, and I will kill him, and your little friends."

Another chilling laugh. Hershel sees the man's hands move as he slips off his gloves.

"I know you better than most. I know what you can do."

He places a hand on the doorknob and turns it. The rusty latch groans in protest, but soon the door is open. Vague candlelight can be seen in the room beyond, and Hershel is the first to enter after Monocle.

There's a something on the floor.

A _someone, _slumped against the wall.

And it's all Layton can do to not panic as he sees dark liquid on the _someone's _collar and smeared on his forehead and-

And the absence of a mask.

_Descole, _he almost cries, and he almost runs towards the form but Monocle is smiling in a way that convinces him not to.

Descole doesn't stir.

His breathing is choked, uneven, his chest rising and falling shakily. The movement is barely noticeable, especially in the dark, but it's there, and it's enough.

It's easy to be tired of your own mind if you're exposed to it enough.

He's ready to wake up now. He's ready to see whatever kind of mess he's gotten himself into, ready to face the battle and the darkness, the full darkness beyond whatever void this is.

He's gotten into trouble before; he's gotten out of it before. No big deal, right?

No big deal.

Monocle rattles one of the heavy chains that are weighing the man down.

"He's not dead!" Luke comments. Monocle chuckles; which obviously puts Emmy more on edge than she was previously and she shifts from foot to foot.

"He's not," the man agrees. "But he will be if he does not do _exactly _as I say."

And he moves closer to the unconscious man on the floor, kicking his shin hard enough for them to hear a painful-sounding dull _thud _that makes Luke wince.

"Wake up."

A pause. Monocle's grin stretches even wider for a reason Hershel hazards a guess at.

"What a shame, you failed to conform."

It's one of those moments when time is locked in amber. Sluggish, almost completely frozen, and everything is distorted-

And there's the glint of a sword in the candlelight, too sudden, too soon-

And the sickening sound of the blade in Descole's chest, in his heart.

And then all of a sudden things stop being so slow, so light, and the_ heavy _weighs down on Layton's lungs as he looks Monocle up and down for a moment of suspended, horrified silence.

_My hands did that. _

_My hands killed Jean Descole. _

And, for all he knows, his hands could also end up killing Luke and Emmy and eventually himself but he doesn't care about that, it doesn't matter yet because he's staggering forwards and falling to his knees at Descole's side and tapping his face.

Tap.

Tap.

"Wake up-"

And the taps turn to slaps as Layton becomes desperate, wishing for any kind of loophole, a way out, but there's nothing there.

But he's gone.

Dead on the spot; dead in his sleep.

Layton wouldn't have wished a more painful demise upon him.


End file.
